


Close

by Splinter



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Comfort Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Movie(s), Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 21:41:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7239520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splinter/pseuds/Splinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s getting used to safety, but gentleness can still leave her feeling bare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place immediately after [Cultivation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7057891), but both are standalone fics, with different ratings/warnings.
> 
> I'm at [lurkinghistoric](http://lurkinghistoric.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.

Max is being protective about it. He and Furiosa share a bench at dinner, his leg against hers. Several times, his hand rests briefly on the small of her back. The press of his thigh is comforting, but she’s a little shocked by her own urge to lean into him. It had been a small thing, a bad day, a bad memory, the kind of thing she used to make herself power through. He’d held her and asked no questions. Eleven hundred days after the fury road, she’s getting used to safety, but gentleness can still leave her feeling bare.

Dag and Cheedo don’t notice, or anyway don’t comment. They ask after Toast and Capable, and talk about their work in the gardens, the planting Max has helped with. It’s a cheerful meal. Still, Furiosa’s not sorry when Cheedo yawns, and the evening breaks up. Back in their room, Max simply wraps himself around her, his head on her shoulder, holding her close. She stands there taking it in, how unguarded he is about giving comfort.

After a while, he starts to stroke her back. It’s still soothing rather than sexy, but she knows that could change in a moment if she wants it to. When she kisses him, he slides his hands under her tunic.

“Naked?” he offers. It’s usually Furiosa who asks for that; sometimes it’s too cold, on chillier desert nights. He takes his shirt off, starts to undress her, nuzzling and stroking as he slides her clothes off. She kisses his bare shoulder, smiling at his tan lines, the paleness of his chest next to the darker skin of his throat. She thinks the smell of earth and green is still clinging to him.

The sun will soon be setting, but it’s warm enough to lie naked on the bed without blankets. She’s already heated, the air cool against her bare, flushed skin, but his hands feel warm on her. When he presses closer, the shivery layers of warm and cool sensation melt into steady, growing heat. She can feel her nipples hardening and her cunt getting wet, sweat and goosebumps forming as he runs his hand up her side. His cock is hardening, twitching against her hip, but he’s unhurried, lingering over her, and that makes her shiver, too.

She turns towards him, nub against his ribs, hand reaching around him. His body is so solid, and so warm: she strokes over his broad chest and firm belly, runs her hand down to the muscular curve of his buttock. He grins when she squeezes. 

She wraps her arms around his chest, so tightly that he makes an oof noise, just for the pleasure of knowing that his body doesn’t give way. She can feel his lungs expand and his heart beating, her hand flat against the strong muscles of his back. She softens her hold, giving him an apologetic pat that makes him laugh. His cock bobs against her belly as she sucks at the pulse in his throat.

There’s a noise Max only really makes in bed, a particular rumbling hum. It’s unpredictable, and fond, and as warming as sunlight. He makes it now, and Furiosa feels her heart turn over at it. She’s already squeezing her thighs together as he kisses his way over her shoulders, can smell as well as feel how wet she is. His thumb circles one of her nipples while he licks at the other. She runs her fingers through his hair, moaning when he sucks harder. He smiles against her breast, then moves to go down.

That’s not what she wants tonight, even though it’s usually a favourite thing for both of them. She wants to be held, wants him face to face. 

“Stay up here?” she asks, hand on his shoulder. “I want…” Words are getting difficult. “I want to see you.” That’s not quite it. She rests her forehead against his. “I want you with me.” He smiles at that, makes his noise again, pulling her closer to kiss her.

He’s stroking in earnest now. His hand slides down over her belly, petting her pubic hair, humming when she squirms. He dips his fingers in, rubbing and stroking and circling. He’s going gentle and steady, but she feels lost in it, her cunt clenching. She hadn’t expected close and soft to be this overwhelming. He’s being so tender that she feels she might break open. 

She’s breathing hard, aware of his hands and his mouth and the press of his body, of his breath on her skin and just how wet she is. Her orgasm builds slowly – everything he’s doing is slow – but hits her in a long wave, pulse after pulse, until she’s sobbing out loud.

He kisses her face while she gets her breath back, his arm still wrapped around her and his lips on her cheeks and jaw and hairline. When she opens her eyes, she pushes up to kiss his mouth, tugging him onto her, insistent. She wants his weight above her, between her thighs and on her body. 

He wriggles, propping himself on one forearm as he gets into position between her open legs. She reaches down to give his cock a possessive stroke, pleased when he gulps. He slides in slow and steady, with a hard little grind at the end that feels wonderful, opening her up. He tucks his arms under her, bracing himself on his elbows. She feels cradled and safe, stretched and filled, his body hot where it’s pressed against her and into her. 

When he starts to thrust, it’s slow and deep. He leans on one elbow, freeing his other hand for her clit, but she shakes her head: she likes the closeness, wants him right on top of her. When she moves her own hand down, he pushes himself up, giving her room to reach between their bodies. He drops back with a harder thrust, sneaks a kiss under her jaw when she gasps. She’s still giggling as she starts to stroke herself.

Max’s cheeks go plump when he’s at his most vulnerable, softer and rounder and sweeter. He tends to drop his eyes when he’s like this, shy of meeting her gaze. Now he’s looking right at her, eyes very blue in the fading light, his hair sticking up and his face flushed. She does understand why he looks away. There are moments when she thinks that he can see all of her, what she needs and what she is, even as he holds her close and drives into her. She bites her lip, wants to hold him tighter. 

He keeps his eyes on her, not even twitchy now, gazing as if he doesn’t quite believe she’s here. Suddenly it’s almost more than she can take. She’s on the edge of orgasm, but she thinks she may have to flinch away, or break apart. Her fingers twitch and slow. 

Still rocking into her, Max shifts his weight, pushing his hand in to join hers. She’s shaking, not sure what noises she’s making. She makes herself push her hips up, against his hand, against his cock. He starts to rub, his fingers tangled with hers on her clit. When her hand slows again, his keeps working at her, leaving her nowhere to hide. His eyes are still on her. Furiosa buries her face in his shoulder when she comes, clinging tight with her nub and gasping into his skin.

He hasn’t come yet, and she’s glad of it. She likes feeling him pump into her, likes having his rhythm to ground her as she comes down. Her body is still shuddering with aftershocks, flaring up at some of his thrusts, keeping her on the edge of too much for just a little longer. When she lifts her head to look at him, she’s almost relieved to find his eyes tight shut, to know that she’s not the only one feeling raw. He comes with a groan, lies panting on top of her, suddenly much heavier. 

When he rolls off, he pulls her with him, lifting her up onto his chest. She snuggles closer, letting herself sprawl over him. The last of the sun has moved past the window, leaving the room dim and blue. 

He strokes her back, slow and idle, moving one hand down to cup her bum and the other up to pet her hair. She doesn’t think she can smell green any more, just herself on him, over the scent of Max himself. 

It’s been a long day. She’s aching a little, muscles tired from tension and release, from working and crying, from sex. She feels almost liquid, her body letting her troubles go in a haze of drowsiness and pleasure. She presses her face against his neck, smiling when he kisses the top of her head. 

“Should wash,” she tells him, not moving.

“Yeah?”

“Be sticky. You’ll smell of me in the morning.”

“Yeah.”

She’s drifting, not asleep but not quite awake. The sweat is drying on her skin, the air turning cooler as night falls. When she shivers, Max shifts under her, nudging her to slide off him. He turns her in his arms, pressing close behind her and cuddling her into the most comfortable position. He pulls the sheet and blanket up, tucking it close to avoid drafts. She grumbles and fidgets when he settles his arm around her, over the fabric. He laughs, his chest shaking at her back, and slides his arm under the sheet. Furiosa lets her eyes close, feeling his lips on her neck and his hand warm on her belly.


End file.
